


Who Will Care for You When I'm Gone?

by JaineyBaby



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Feelings, Gifts, Headcanon, M/M, james cooks, james thinks too much, mostly to himself, puzzle boxes, q tinkers, so many feelings, then lies about it, this is sorta fluffy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaineyBaby/pseuds/JaineyBaby
Summary: It was just dinner. It didn't mean anything else. It didn't have to mean anything else.





	Who Will Care for You When I'm Gone?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timetospy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/gifts).



> Thanks timetospy for reading over this for me. I'm sorry I keep killing you. :*

It had started slowly, James coming home from missions only to find Q slumped over his workstation in the Branch with no sign of food or rest about him. Often, James would would yolk up some poor unexpecting minion and pull them aside. 

 

“When was the last time he’s gone home? When have you seen him have something besides tea?” To his dismay, often the answers were the same; days and nights in his office with little more to run on than lukewarm tea and sheer stubbornness. James would frown and make his way home, but not before stopping off at the grocers. He always returned to Q Branch, a plate in his hand and a scowl on his face. The plate was homeware crockery and still warm, wrapped carefully in cellophane as he slid it in front of Q, his face brokering no argument. 

 

Q looked up and glared back over the edge of his laptop. “Double Oh Seven, you are not my mother.” even as he groused, he lifted the edge of the wrapping. 

 

“I would be remiss if I were to let my Quartermaster wither away down here.” James tried for an easy grin as he watched as Q made up his mind to take the plate. 

 

“Really. You don’t have to keep taking care of me,” Q said softly this time, looking up, giving James a small smile. 

 

_ I’d like to take care of you, if you’d let me.  _ The words flooded into his mind before he could stop them and James almost flinched at how quickly the thought settled into him. He would never dare say them out loud however, and settled on an easy barb. “Eat your vegetables,” he quipped flatly and turned before Q could begin another argument. 

 

James passed Eve Moneypenny in the door to the hall and she stopped him with an easy hand on his elbow. She looked as though she was about to say something but quickly changed her mind and continued on her way. He pushed it from his mind before he let it eat at him any further. It wasn’t as if he was doing something far out of his way. They were basic meals that he knew would keep Q going if he otherwise refused to rest. James did his best to convince himself that this was for the betterment of MI6 and Queen and Country. Soon, they fell into the routine of it; James coming back to London finding Q working himself thin over his server bays and running the bullpen with ease. James would watch his face and something in him would ache. He always thought that Q was far too young to look already so weary of this world. 

 

The meals seemed to bolster Q, making him better at his job. There had been a noticeable uptick in his productivity and how he ran the Branch and how he looked over the agents in the field. These improvements only served to encourage James even further, soon he picked up on what Q liked and disliked and which dishes did better to help him rest, help him think, and what kept him busy enough to let someone else shoulder the burden for once.

 

It wasn’t long before James started finding trades for his plates of food or fresh cups of tea. He would push a meal in front of Q, teasing an easy smile and a soft “eat your vegetables.” across the stainless steel worktop and Q’s hand would slide out from behind his computer or the weapons he had been working on and a new prototype would fall into James’ hands easily. 

 

He found more often than not, they weren’t weapons, but puzzle boxes and tinkered toys, things that were meant to keep idle hands busy in long periods of waiting. James realized Q was building new things for the agents to keep them sharp in the field and he couldn’t be more impressed. In recent memory, there had never been a Quartermaster that looked out for his agents quite as Q had. James sometimes wondered if he still beat himself up over what had happened with Silva. 

 

One evening, James pushed across a bowl of roast and potatoes and Q slid back to him a cube with a lever standing out from one face that ran around a track that zigzagged across its faces. It was a bit larger than a die and James picked it up gently to find that it was made of a light metal and cool to the touch. He gave Q a small nod and left for his debriefing with M. This mission would find him in Italy for several weeks, following his mark through a small coastal village. Every moment of downtime, James found himself fiddling with the gizmo, tracing its lever through the maze of lines that marked the surface. Sometimes he would shift it through one part of the maze and would hear a soft whir of gears or the soft click of a gear. Q would never explain how his little inventions worked, only waited for James to figure it out on his own.

 

James sat outside a café, the cube between his fingers as he worked the lever through a curve over one face and into the other. There was a soft clicking but the sight of his mark moving stopped him from pressing it any further.

 

Overall, the mission was a success, though the mark had made him. There was a gunfight, there always was, and a chase through the hills of the Italian village that ended with James’ fist flying into his mark’s face. James turned the man over to the authorities along with enough evidence to put him away for a long time. It wasn’t until he was on the plane back to London that James pulled his cube from his pocket again. His finger barely brushed the lever before the surface of the cube began to shift and gears from inside whirred smoothly, panels shifting and folding back, other components springing forward. The whole affair was mesmerizing as Q’s little puzzle box transformed into a delicate dragonfly that sat on the end of the lever that James had fiddled with to unlock the gossamery creature. James held the lever between his fingers and watched in wonder as the dragonfly gave a soft flutter of its wings, the thin pressed metal catching the light that came through the window, sending soft iridescent shimmers across the cabin and into James’ eyes. The movement made James’ heart stutter to a near stop, chasing away the warmth that had flooded his chest just a moment before. In the vacuum left behind, cold dread filled the spaces between James’ ribs and sent his blood running like ice into the very tips of his fingers.

He handled the dragonfly gently, pocketing where it would be safe against his chest. He removed his radio from his back pocket and placed it in a napkin on the ground before carefully stepping down onto it. Q would never have to know that James had solved his puzzle, only that it was lost between them. He quickly picked out the telltale signs of computer chips from his radio and pocketed the napkin with the destroyed tech. It was safer this way, easier to pretend that what they had between them was nothing more than a professional working relationship, that James bringing Q food meant nothing more than making sure the idiot didn’t fall over dead from starvation. He tried to think of when it had started like this, when they had fallen into this kind of exchange. He hadn’t meant to fall for the boffin and he certainly had hoped that Q wasn’t fool enough to fall for him. Even as he thought this, he knew it had been true as he could feel the delicate outline of the dragonfly pressing through the silk of his inner pocket. He hated himself for wanting something more from Q than he had ever the right to ask for. 

 

Q seemed disappointed when James laid the napkin out, frowning with as much contrition as he could muster. He explained away the missing radio easily enough and turned to leave. The small sigh of hurt didn't escape his ears though he did his best to ignore it and the way it made his chest constrict. He kept telling himself that this was for the best. That Q was too young to be so damaged and that no one who fell for James Bond would ever get away from it with their soul intact.

 

Back in his nearly empty flat James removed the dragonfly. He found if he gave the lever a small twist the wings would again flutter as if it were trying to take off. Q was a genius. He could make a thousand of these and profit spectacularly. He wouldn't have to hide in basement of a government building, watching over fools like James. He could take better care of himself. But Q wouldn't hear of it if James told him this. They were both dedicated to their work, they both had a job to do and it was easier to pretend that that was all that laid between them.

 

Three days into his leave, James was already itching for another mission. His bones still ached from Italy and his skin seemed to crawl with the stillness of his flat. In those 72 hours, Q's dragonfly was never far from his hands. The morning of his fourth day on shore leave, there was knock on his door. To say it was a knock was being kind, it was more like someone was trying to break the damned thing down with bare fists. James yanked the door open only to find a very aggravated Q standing on the other side. 

 

"That wasn't the cube." He snapped. 

There was no point in lying. "No it wasn't." 

 

"Then why..." Q's voice died out and something seemed to dawn on him. James could see the fight physically drain out of him. "Ah. Well.... of course." He shuffled from foot to foot. "My mistake, Double Oh Seven..." Q was slowly shuffling away from the door, being careful to look anywhere but at James. 

 

James couldn’t help but see how tired Q looked. He moved out of the doorway and Q all but flinched, as if he expected the door to be slammed in his face. Maybe that wasn't such a terrible idea. Shut down every chance James had before he ruined everything with his mere existence. But James wasn't James unless he completely ignored every good idea that fell into his lap. He reached out into the hall and gently led Q into his flat. 

 

"You need to eat something." James pointed to the breakfast counter and made his way into the kitchen, not missing the way Q's eyes tracked his every movement. He had left the dragonfly on the counter and it sat like an activated grenade between them. 

 

"I'm sorry I lied to you." James said softly, pulling down pans and bowls and reaching for the eggs. 

 

"I didn't mean to be so forward," Q replied, but he sounded distracted. James chanced a glance over his shoulder. Q's eyes were fixed on the dragonfly. 

 

It struck James suddenly how ridiculous this all had been. He chuckled then and Q's eyes darted up as he scowled. "I'm sorry. I just.... I don't believe either of us have been very forward about any of this." 

 

Q's scowl changed from anger to anger and confusion. 

 

"Q... why a dragonfly?" It had been the question that plagued James the most since the cube sprang apart.

 

Q was silent for a moment. "I'm guessing telling you that I chose it at random isn't going to convince you, is it?" He asked flatly. 

 

"No, I don't believe it will. But you could try." James turned back to the stove to give Q the room he needed to work out his words as James cracked eggs into butter and dropped bread into the toaster. 

 

"They bring perspective, dragonflies, and a bit of luck if you can get it. I had a bit of a self realization of sorts and I maybe...." he cleared his throat and James could hear him lift the dragonfly from the counter, the soft whirring of gears shifting its wings on the end of the lever. "Maybe I had hoped I wasn't the only one to realize." 

 

James looked over his shoulder again. He could never get over how expressive Q's face was. Where a scowl had creased his mouth before, there was an open look of wistful self-indulgence and a touch of reluctance. Maybe…

 

"It won't be easy." James said finally, turning back to the eggs in the pan. 

 

"I know." 

 

"I'm not exactly the best person..." 

 

"I know that too," Q replied not unkindly.

 

"Well glad we agree on that, then." James huffed and it was an easy banter. Q smirked back at him. 

  
Eggs were shuffled onto plates and tea was poured and toast divided up. James turned, standing at his kitchen counter facing a whole new world of possibilities. Perspective, he thought. Perspective that caring for someone went beyond his bed and could be easily slotted into his life if he let it. They ate quietly both lost in their own perspectives. For the first time since that day in Venice when his lungs ached for air as a steel cage plummeted into the waters below, since that moment he climbed out of the waterways and swore he'd never be made a fool of again, death first, James Bond felt the muscle in his chest give a hopeful stirring flutter.


End file.
